Senior Moments
by Cheirodon
Summary: Friendship in old age-aging adventurers retired to an old folks home (Senior Moments Home for Ailing Adventurers). The death of a hunter pet brings unlikely companions together.


The pain in her knee woke Jemano. She sat up, slightly confused and disoriented—where was she again? Her room. The fire in the hearth burned low and shadows flickered around her. It was her right knee again, stiff and painful—she must have been laying on it wrong. She rubbed it, shifted position and tried to settle back in. The knee eased (but only a little) and it was pretty obvious that there was no more sleep to be had. What time was it? Given the darkness, anytime between sunset and dawn. She felt fairly well rested—and hungry—so hopefully it was closer to dawn and to breakfast than to the middle of the night. Jem listened for any sounds that might give the time away. The fire, of course. Her old joints creaking as she shifted out of the bed. Faintly she picked up the sound of metal clinking and a very faint chatter of voices caught one of her long elven ears—good. If the kitchen staff was up, breakfast and dawn could not be too far away. She picked up the faint pinging sound of sleet and the hiss of the wind on the closed window—well, with her knee, she wasn't going to be doing any walking today anyway. Pity. She had hoped to get into Everlook today, perhaps the books she had ordered had come in?

Lots of warm woolies for a day like today, especially with a sore knee. Pity Phee didn't rise early these days. She could have gone to the home healer, she supposed, but, well, no. Too cold and impersonal. She much preferred Phee, the elderly pandaren priestess, who could make her laugh even as she eased her pain. But then…Phee wouldn't but around for hours. She was one of the oldest residents of the Senior Moments Home for Ailing Adventurers, and long past getting up at the crack of dawn. The clinic was supposed to be open all day and all night. That was in Dorfy's brochures. It was true, she was fully aware of that—there had been days when she had little choice but to visit the home healer. At night, it was usually a pleasant-enough goblin priestess. What was her name? See, Jem didn't even know that. During the day it was another goblin priest, equally efficient and equally not Phee. Sighing, she threw on a heavy cloak over her warm clothes and hobbled to the door. She would ask Daura, the rotund pandaren cook, for a hot water bottle and decide after that.

She walked down the short hallway (paneled in dark, rich woods—she had made a good living as a hunter and could afford a pleasant retirement if the damn knee would just stop aching) and into the big common room. It was always warm here, all day, all night, all year. Living in Winterspring-where it was all winter and no spring-required a steady supply of warmth. She could hear the pans clattering a bit louder in the kitchen along with the smell of tea and sausage. A couple of the goblin assistants appeared and began to set up the breakfast buffet table. Another began wiping down the tables in the common room, which doubled as a dining room for those residents who felt up to eating in company. Residents who didn't feel so inclined—or could not make the trip to the common room—were served their meals in their rooms. There had been bad days when Jem had done that, when pain and memories kept her shut in her room. Sometimes she just wanted to be alone—that was her nature, deep down, and neither a very long life nor the other residents could change that.

Near one of the huge hearths (burning brightly) sat her friend Gypsytouch, and Gypsy's mate, Jorah. Gypsy was a night elf hunter, like Jemano, but Jorah was a plump human from Stormwind, a retired teacher. Jem wondered what Jorah made of Winterspring—nothing like the mild climes of Stormwind and Elwynn, and half a world away—but Jorah seemed happy enough. She was reading a book (Jem felt a slight pang, she was out of books) while Gypsy, ever the crafter, stitched away. Judging from the pile of colorful silks in her lap and scattered on nearby tables, it looked to be a formal mage robe. She supposed it could be for a warlock or a priest, but…no. Priests tended towards plain robes even on the fanciest of occasions, while warlocks' choice of colors tended towards black, red and fel green. Nope, definitely a mage. Jem settled herself cautiously on the chair nearest the fire.

"Knee again?", said Gypsy, while peering a a series of offending stitches.

"It's always that knee," commented Jorah. "I though Night Elves were nigh-immortal and high above bad knees?"

Jem grimaced. "We were immortal, but well, that's past now."

Gypsy chuckled, picking out a row of stitches that didn't satisfy her. "Tell her how you hurt your knee. It's a good story."

"I want to hear it too," rumbled a deep voice. It was Hawkbite, a massive Tauren paladin whose only concession to age was a greying muzzle. He pulled up one of the special Tauren chairs (the cow chairs, thought Jem, and suppressed a giggle) and settled himself down next to her.

"You've heard it before," she told the massive bull. "Why do you want to hear it again?"

"It's a good story and you tell it well," replied Hawkbite, slurping coffee from a Tauren sized mug. "I like stories".

Jorah and Gypsy looked at her expectantly, and Hawkbite's eyes seemed to smile over the rim of his bucket-sized mug. Jem sighed. She really didn't mind telling stories, though, she just didn't want it to look like she liked telling the stories. "It was in Nazmir. I was hunting blood trolls and got lazy and complacent. Walked right into one of their leghold traps."

"Oh, dem be nasty tings," came another voice. It was Sirois, a troll friend. "Lost a few friends to dem, I did."

"Well, I couldn't get it off, and I was bleeding badly. I was trying to get it to let go, it was stuck or something, and I was worried about the blood and the swamp. Those swamps of Nazmir are filthy things. I was just getting the trap loose when I heard footsteps—I figured, correctly, that it was the blood troll coming to check his traps. So I feigned death, after I ordered Grizzelda to hide in the bushes."

"Good thing there are plenty of those in Nazmir," commented Hawkbite.

"He looked absolutely flabbergasted at what he had caught. Probably hunting for croc, and instead he bags a night elf hunter? If he was smart he would have just stuck me right then and there and it would've been the end of me and good for him. I think he was greedy and wanted my gear and thought for sure I was dead, what with all the blood pooling around my leg. Went straight for my bags, that was fortunate—again, if he had gone for my bow I would've had quite a fight on my hands. But I was laying partly across the bow and he wanted the easy to grab stuff first, so he started rummaging in my bags. Jorah leaned forward, her eyes bright and her book forgotten for the moment. "So I waited. I was hoping he would move just close enough to Grizz for her to bowl him over before he saw her."

"But wait, you had a bow…why he not be knowing you be a hunter?" said Sirois, looking surprised.

"I suspect that because he didn't see Grizz he thought I was a rogue, maybe. There's so much mud and muck and water you couldn't really track prints, so he had no way of knowing where Grizz was or even if she was there. Most times when a hunter falls their pet fights it out, so…" replied Jemano. "I'm guessing he just didn't think about it. I knew I'd have one shot at him once Grizz attacked, so I waited and waited while blood was seeping into the water and stars only know what nasty things were getting into my leg." She shivered. "Then he moved just right, right in front of Grizz, and I gave the signal. She came charging out of the bushes like a shot, bowled him right over. I rolled over, grabbed my bow and shot him in the eye as he got back up. Was a pretty tough shot though, Grizz had him by the leg and was yanking him around like a toy. Dead blood troll, live night elf, that's the story."

"Not quite," said Gypsy. "Tell the rest, how you got back to camp."

"Well, I'm not quite sure how I got back to camp. After the blood troll was dead I managed to work the trap free but I had lost a lot of blood. I remember leaning on Grizz for a bit but then things got kind of swimmy. I woke up at Fort Victory, don't know if I hobbled all the way there or if Grizz dragged me or if she ran off and got some help. Maybe she carried me on her back. Pity she can't talk, that would be a good story too."

"Didn't the healers and guards at the Fort know how you got there?"

"No, the healer said a guard spotted me in the shallow water—there are razorfins in that water, damn I was lucky—and Grizz standing over me."

"Wow," said Jorah. "You and Gypsy were quite the adventurers." She smiled at Gypsy, who winked over the fabric she was holding.

"As were we all," said Hawkbite, taking another swig of coffee.

A great grunting snore startled them all. Jem looked off to the right, behind Gypsy. There was a table there, and a mound of papers in various states of blank, written and crumpled. The papers shifted slightly and a bald green head with floppy ears arose from the pile.

"Mornin' der, Zezzle," said Sirois. Zezzle glared at her and began rummaging through the papers and muttering to himself. "Engineers," laughed Sirois.

"When will Kixxy be down?" Jorah asked. "Zezz has been looking poorly lately, he needs a meal."

"And a good bath," said Hawkbite, very quietly. Jem swatted him and he smiled.

"Well, a bath too," said Jorah. "Kixxy can get him cleaned up and get some breakfast into him. He looks like a goblin skeleton."

"Kixxy does what Kixxy does, when Kixxy wants to do it," said Hawkbite, rising for another cup of coffee. "I'm sure Zezz will manage a little longer." Daura and several assistants emerged from the kitchen in clouds of fragrant steam. "Breakfast!" called Hawkbite, coffee momentarily forgotten.

Gypsy sniffed as she set her work aside. "Boar sausages by the smell of it."

Sirois laughed. "Where do she come by boar way up here? Dat be costing lots of pennies, and Dorfy don' like it when tings cost him pennies."

"Who cares?" Jem said, struggling to her feet. "I'm just glad it's boar and not some mystery meat. Remember the inn at Rachet? Lawd he used to serve mystery meat at every meal!"

"I think I found a few bits of scorpid in my stew there," commented Hawkbite. Everyone laughed and headed for the buffet.

It proved to be more than just boar sausages. There were eggs, boiled, scrambled, fried and poached. Mounds of toasted bread, jars of butter and jam, fresh fruit (Jem grabbed and goldenbark apple, her very favorite), and spice bread. Mulgore spice bread, judging by the way everyone was piling it on their plates. Jem heaped a plate with food—the pain had not killed her appetite, and began hobbling back towards a table. Daura, the pandaren cook, snatched the plate from her hand, swept over to the table and deftly set Jem a place. "I've sent Bolty for a hot water bottle Mz. Jem," she said. "You really should go to the clinic with that." Bolty, a tiny, squeaky voiced female goblin, trotted up with a bulging hot water bottle. "It's not good for the Home's image when the residents are hobbling around," Daura finished.

Jem laughed. "The Senior Moments Home for Ailing Adventurers can manage to have one lame night elf and survive." Daura simply waved and headed back to the kitchen. Jem planted the bottle on her knee (heaven) and tucked into her plate. She was joined by Gypsy, Jorah, Sirois, Hawkbite and a few others.

A tuft of white hair began wending it's way through the residents and heading their way. Jorah looked relieved. "Morning Kixxy!" she called. Kixxy nodded at her as he appeared through the forest of legs (and tails and hooves). A wizened old gnome, he had a plate of food in each hand and hurried towards Zezzle's table. Where Zezz was always disheveled and disinterested in anything but his calculations, Kixxy was always perfectly groomed and dressed, his snowy white hair and beard combed and fluffed. Zezz was still mumbling to himself and feverishly writing things down on his scraps of paper. Kixxy planted a plate of food in front of Zezz, who frowned and tried to push it away. Kixxy pushed it back all while climbing into his own chair. They argued, waving small hands about. Zezz's ears flopped about, and Kixxy's beard bristled. Finally Zezz grabbed a fork and started to eat, still mumbling.

"Zezz would waste away if he didn't have Kixxy," Jorah said, returning to her own plate.

"Don't worry, Dorfy would keep him alive somehow," said Hawkbite. Jem smiled into her food. Dorfy—more precisely Grinder Dorfenburger—was the Man in Charge (excuse me, she thought, Goblin in Charge) of all the Senior Moments homes. There were many, most near neutral goblin towns like Winterspring, Booty Bay, and Rachet. It had made him immensely wealthy, almost to the Trade Prince level. Almost. Rumor had it Dorfy was planning some new homes, although where he would put them was beyond anyone's ken but Dorfy's. Or Dorfy and Jorah.

"Rumor has it he's planning a new place in Mudsprocket," said Jorah, her mouth full of spice bread. Everyone stopped eating, shocked.

"There's nothing but crocolisks and dragonkin and swamp in Mudsprocket!" said Quirtle, startled out of his normal silence.

"Dorfy thinks it might appeal to the naturalist type," Jorah went on. "You know, someone might want to study the flora and fauna of the area."

"Hey, you could move there, Jem," said Hawkbite. "You're a herbalist!"

"No thanks. I like myself unburnt and with all my fingers and toes." The dragonkin in the Dustwallow Marsh, where Mudsprocket was located, were notorious for toasting adventurers to a crisp with their flame breath, and the crocolisks were just plain mean. "There's ghosts there too, and spiders."

"Now there be somtin' worth studyin!" laughed Sirois. "Spiders!" Apparently no one else found that funny. A collective shudder ran through the group and everyone began concentrating on their food again. No one who had fought spiders—or read about the giant Azerothian spiders—cared to talk much about them.

Sirois said, "Look who be here."

Jem tried a sideways glance without turning her head. Gypsy, who had a better view of the buffet, said "It's only Urhan."

"Dat orc be strange," commented Sirois. "Never be talking to anyone, just gets his plate and eats up in his room."

"So what?" said Quirtle. "I don't talk much either."

"Lots of people take their meals in their rooms," said Hawkbite mildly.

"Yes, but dis orc never does nothin' with nobody. Never even be leavin' his room 'cept for food. What he be doin' wi' his time, I wonders. Me, I'd be bored stiff," finished Sirois.

Jem, who liked hanging out with friends but not with a big group of strangers, could sympathize with Urhan. "There's a certain appeal to being alone," she said. "Doesn't he have any friends here?" she asked.

"None," said Sirois, sounding most definitive. Jem glanced at the orc. He had a plate of food in one hand, a mug of hot coffee in the other, and was leaving the same way he came in.

"I tried talking to him once," said Jorah. Jorah was, like Sirois, very people oriented. Jem expected she knew and spoke to everyone in the home, so this was no surprise. "He just ignored me," she finished. Jem peeped over at the doorway again. Urhan was gone. She felt a little touch of sadness at that—she knew a lot about being alone. She was just the opposite of Sirois and Jorah—definitely not people oriented—but she had good friends and could choose to spend time with friends or by herself, and everyone respected that. But it was different when you didn't have friends and were just, well, alone. What did Urhan do all day? Perhaps he was like Zezz and a former engineer and tinkerer who made crazy inventions in his room. No, somehow Jem doubted that. She didn't know where Urhan's room was, but Dorfy strongly discouraged bringing dangerous goods into the rooms. Hence Zezz, who was parked in the common room 99% of the time, even sleeping there most nights.

"Azeroth to Jem, Azeroth to Jem," said Gypsy, waving a hand in front of her face. "Do you want more tea? It's the third time I asked you!"

"Huh? Oh, no, I don't think so." Gypsy shrugged and went to get herself (and Jorah) fresh cups of peacebloom tea. Jem went back to pondering. She had felt very alone at times in her (very long) life, and she knew it wasn't a nice feeling. But if Jorah hadn't been able to strike up a conversation, what could she do? Her conversational skills with strangers was limited at best. She looked at Hawkbite, who had finished his meal and was enjoying a fresh cup of coffee. "Hawkbite, do you know anything about Urhan?" The tauren gave her a strange, closed look. So he DID know something. Interesting. "I mean, like, what does he like? Does he have a special food, maybe, that he likes? Or anything special like that?" Sirois looked up with interest at the tauren, who was staring into his coffee cup.

"I don't really know him that well," Hawkbite said, finally. Apparently he could find nothing more in his coffee to ponder.

Sirois chimed in. "Most orcs love their food. True warriors, all. Always looking forward to the next meal."

"Well, Daura provides plenty of food, of all kinds," said Gypsy, returning with mugs of tea.

Quirtle spoke up. "If you want to know what an orc likes, ask an orc." Jem laughed, they all did, and then paused.

"He's the only orc here," said Jorah, stating the obvious. Jem blinked and realized it was true. There were trolls and tauren and goblins, worgen, humans, night elves, draenei…but only the one orc. "Why was that?" she mused to herself and then realized she had spoken aloud. Sirois was the one who answered.

"Warchief Durak set up a pension system for da Horde members who wanted or needed it," she answered. "Mostly was orcs that took it. It's a place right in the middle of Orgrimmar." She chuckled. "Come to tink of it, only orcs dere. Not many others. Wonder why?" She shrugged as she said it—_typical orcs_, said that shrug. _They be strange_.

Jem glanced at Hawkbite, who was sitting very still, coffee forgotten, a look on his face…"You know," said Jem. No response. "There's a reason, isn't there. And YOU KNOW." Everyone was now staring at Hawkbite. Even his tail was still.

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," said Jorah, ever the diplomat. Jem hissed a little at her, but Jorah was right. They couldn't make this mountain of a Tauren talk if he didn't want to, no matter what they did. And he clearly felt that the secret was his to keep, so was it fair that they push him to talk about something he had probably sworn not to? Jem sighed.

"Well, Hawkbite," she said, "you must be his friend then. Anything you can tell us?" Hawkbite flicked his ears and said nothing. After a moment, Sirois spoke up again. "Cactus apples," she said.

"Say what?" said Gypsy. "What kind of apples?" Hawkbite gave Sirois a pained look.

"Cactus apples. The orcs, dey make a special dish w'dem. I ate it when I was a new recruit." She looked thoughtful. "It was pretty tasty, as I recall. Galgar the orc cook made it. Secret orc recipe and all that stuff. Cactus apple surprise, I tink." She smiled around her tusks. "Bet he'd like dat, he would."

"Never heard of it," said Gypsy. "Sounds nasty."

"You be Alliance and Alliance be strange. I'm sure y'all have some foods that ya like and no one else does."

"Kimchi," said Hawkbite. Both Jem and Gypsy laughed. Kimchi, spicy fermented vegetables buried in the ground. Night elves loved it. Others? Not so much. Just thinking of a freshly opened jar made Jem's mouth water, despite the lavish breakfast. "I had it once," said Hawkbite. "A druid had gotten some from the elves and offered it to me. Nasty, nasty stuff."

"So," said Jem, "if Sirois be thinkin'," she smiled at Sirois, "that maybe this cactus apple surprise may please him, then why don't we get some and see how he reacts? I bet he'd like it a lot, and like the idea of friends even more."

Hawkbite's look of discomfort had deepened—he now looked like he was struggling to suppress one seriously big fart—and there were the beginnings of affront on his face. "You can't just go to Durotar or Orgrimmar and order some!"

"Not me," said Jem. "But I bet Daura can. I wonder if she knows the recipe? She can cook bloody near anything."

Sirois gave her a quick tap on the head. "You be not listenin', night elf. It's an orc dish, it be made by orcs. A secret recipe. No one but orcs be knowin' how to cook it."

"I'm betting no one else WANTS to," said Jorah, rising from her seat. "Going to go finish my book."

"Can I read it when you're done?" Jem piped up. "I haven't gotten my order yet."

"Sure thing," replied Jorah and headed back towards the hearth and her chair.

"So," Jem continued, "how do we get this stuff, does anyone have any ideas?" Hawkbite said nothing, just looked angry and gassy.

"Daura could probably order it," said Gypsy. "She got the zhevra from Durotar a few weeks ago, remember?"

"I remember eating zhevra sandwiches for what seemed like weeks," said Quirtle. "And zhevra stew, and zhevra casseroles, and the Light knows what else. I've had enough of zhevra and Durotar to last a lifetime. Ciao, all." He left.

"Daura can't order it with the regular tings," said Sirois. "Dorfy'd have a fit."

"No, probably not," replied Jem. "But I bet I can order it! I'll have her order a jar of kimchi while she's at it. That would hit the spot." Sirois rolled her eyes and left the table. Gypsy got up too. Jem figured she'd tackle Daura after dinner, when the cook often had a pipe in the staff lounge before going to bed.

"You want what?" Daura set her pipe down.

"Cactus apple surprise. It's an orc dish."

"Why does a night elf want an orc dish?"

"Never mind why. You got the zhevra from Durotar, I'd be willing to bet you can get this too."

"Ah, I dunno." Daura looked wary. "It would be very expensive."

"Don't worry about that," said Jem. "I'll pay for it." Daura's look of distrust deepened. "No matter what it costs."

The kimchi arrived a week or so later, the jar still with earth clinging to it. Jem and Gypsy mostly split it between themselves and the other night elves in the home. It was every bit as good as Jem remembered, and she made a mental note to ask Daura to get some more on a semi-regular basis. But the cactus apple surprise? It did not. Jem restrained herself from asking Daura weekly (or more often) about it. The first time Jem asked, and the second and the third, Daura simply looked at her and said, "These things take time, night elf." And so Jem resigned herself to waiting. Gypsy finished the mage robe and started a new project, a more…restrained…robe for Phee, who was going to visit her relatives in Pandaria in a few weeks. The books arrived, just in time too, for Jem had finished Jorah's book and was getting desperate enough to read some of the steamy romance novels in the home's library. And time ticked by, just as it always did…

It must have been six months or more since Jem had made the request from Daura. There had been regular deliveries of kimchi since (the night elves had put together a fund to order more, so Jem didn't have to bear all the costs), and more deliveries of books. The priest robe had given way to other projects, and then others. Hawkbite was smiling and talking normally to all at meals. Life was good. And then, one bright, sunny (but cold, it was always cold) morning, a message arrived from Everlook. A package was being held at the Everlook post office for Jem, would she kindly come and pick it up at her earliest convenience? "More books?" asked Gypsy.

"No, I only ordered more a week ago, and they take a least a month to get here. Wonder what it is?"

Sirois looked up from her sausage (turkey this time, somehow Daura had failed to get the boar sausage). "I be having some shoppin' to do in Everlook, if you be goin', mebbe I go wit ya?"

"Always better to travel in groups," Gypsy said. "I think I'll go too, and maybe Jorah."

Hawkbite shook his head. "I have some work to finish," he said. Jem guessed it was the leather dolls and toys he made for the goblin children in Everlook. How many children were there in Everlook? They must all have at least two leather toys.

"It's a beautiful morning for it," Jem said. "Give me a bit to digest this breakfast," (turkey and all, she thought), "and we can head out."

It _was_ a lovely morning, the sky so blue and clear it hurt the eyes to stare at it too long. Birds were singing in the trees, and the breeze was just a perfect touch, enough to be pleasant but not enough to chill the bones. Far off, Jem thought, she could hear the yetis squabbling over something. They rarely came down to the road, which was well patrolled by goblins from Everlook, but still, it was, as Gypsy had said, always better to travel in groups. Along with Sirois, Gypsy and Jorah, all well bundled up, Jem had included her bear, Grizz. Grizz was old now, her last surviving pet, but she was feeling good enough for a nice walk in the snow. Grizz growled faintly at the yetis and Jem put a hand on her old gray head to quiet her. A blood elf galloped by on his steed, kicking up little puffs of snow, his glossy blond hair sparkling in the sun. He waved at them with a huge grin as white as the snow, and passed on. Jem and the others waved back, but Sirois pointedly looked the other way. Jem glanced at her and troll flushed a bit, staring back defiantly, then dropped her eyes. She gave a little sniff. "All of dem be pretty girls and boys, but not much else." Jem and the others looked at her in surprise. "Ain't you noticed there ain't no blood-elves in the home?" Jem hadn't to be honest. "Like de orcs, the blood-elves have a special place in Quel'thalas, just for dem. Too good to hang around with the likes of us." This was so unlike the normally cheerful and gregarious Sirois that Jem came to a stop, looking hard at her. Sirois hung her head a little more. "I was friends with one, a real pretty boy, he was a warrior, ha! That skinny boy, a warrior." Sirois shook her head. "We adventured together for years, an' I mean years. When it was time to retire, though, I thought we'd retire together. But no, he went to Quel'thalas, and do you know what he said to me? He said it was for blood-elves only, and _not for the likes of me_." She spat onto the cold roadway. "The likes of me, I tell ya, I nearly clobbered him in his pretty face right then. Blood elves!" She started walking again, and the others hurried to catch up. Jem could just see the walls of Everlook in the distance, and thought it couldn't come quickly enough for Sirois, who was practically jogging on the road.

They arrived at the gates, all panting a little from the walk. The guards waved them inside and they parted ways, Sirois to do her shopping, Gypsy and Jorah to continue their stroll, and Jem to pick up her package. "Meet at the inn at noon!" called Gypsy.

The package was not books. It was big, and grubby, and the return address on it said…Durotar. Finally! Jem started to open it, then thought better of it. It would be a bit of a walk back to the home, and she thought it might be easier to carry a unopened package than an opened one. The goblin postal worker looked at her curiously, but said nothing as she left with the (heavy) package. When they got back to the home that afternoon, Jem opened it, with Sirois, Hawkbite, Gypsy and Jorah looking on. Inside was a letter, written in Orcish, and numerous wrapped bundles of pastry. Jem sniffed at it, broke off a corner, and tasted it. "Ick," she said.

Hawkbite laughed. "Just like the kimchi," he said.

Sirois took a nibble. "Yep, just like what I remember."

"I'll have Daura put it out for dinner, we don't know how long it will stay fresh after the trip." She handed the letter to Hawkbite. "Can you read this?"

Hawkbite studied the letter a bit. "It says that this was a strange order, and they don't know why someone ordered it, and well, it says to bugger off, they won't make it again." He laughed. "It's signed Grogar. I know him. Galgar's great-nephew. Probably passed the recipe on to him."

"I'll be happy to bugger off after this," replied Jem. "This stuff was bloody expensive. I only hope Urhan likes it." She realized she was grinning foolishly, but it didn't matter. She only hoped she was going to make a very lonely someone very happy tonight, and that thought only made her grin wider, until she was sure her cheeks would split.

Daura unwrapped the packages of pastry and arranged them artfully on a tray, along with a sign "Cactus Apple Surprise! Try some!" When dinner arrived Jem could almost sense the puzzlement in the room. What the hell was this stuff? Daura, true to her word, said nothing, only that it was a surprise treat. Well, treat was a big word—it was NOT a big hit with the crowd. Most nibbled and made faces and went on to something else. Some of the former Horde members tried it, and some seemed to like it—Hawkbite said it was as good as any he'd had, and Sirois echoed that sentiment. Jem, though, was waiting for Urhan. She hoped the dish would last until Urhan came down for his plate—but there seemed little worry of that. Whoever had made it and sent it—Hawkbite would not say who signed the cryptic "bugger off" letter—had made a big batch, and it was not being eaten rapidly. Jem was halfway through her own dinner—positioned at a table where she could look into the doorway Urhan always came through—when Gypsy elbowed her in the ribs. Hard. Of course Urhan had chosen that precise moment, when she was looking down at her plate of roast quail, to enter the room. She shushed Gypsy as quietly as she could and then watched (very carefully) as Urhan collected a plate and began to fill it for his dinner. He came to the tray of Cactus Apple Surprise and stopped dead. Daura smiled and said something (probably that he could take all he wanted, hissed Jorah), and Urhan remained looking at the tray for some time, until a grumbling line had built up behind him. No one dared say anything to the hulking orc, but Urhan finally took several pieces of the pastry and moved on. At the end of the line he stopped again, turning around and staring hard at the collected residents. Jem looked at her own plate and appeared to be deep in conversation with Gypsy when his hard glance passed her way. Jorah was conversing pleasantly with Hawkbite, who had his back turned towards Urhan. Finally the old orc shook his head a bit and headed back up to his room, plate in hand. Jem and Gypsy laughed and high-fived each other, something no one else seemed to notice in the warm, crowded, chattering room.

"Don't you say a word now, if he asks you anything," scolded Jem at Hawkbite.

"Me?" He gave her his most innocent look, wide brown eyes and all. "I know nothing at all." Sure you don't, thought Jem, but she left it at that.

And then…nothing happpened.

There was enough Cactus Apple Surprise left for the next day, and Urhan loaded his plate with it, but he said nothing. Not to anyone, so far as Jem could tell. He simply went up to his room until the next meal. None of the others had seen him around, or heard of his asking any questions. Nothing. Simply nothing. It drove Jem crazy. "Isn't he the least bit curious?" she said, for about the third time that week. "I couldn't stand it."

Quirtle looked up from his bear tartare. "Not everyone is as filled with infernal curiosity as you are, night elf." Jem winced, but it was true. No one else seemed to have her persistent, annoying curiosity about everything, especially this. She muttered something into her plate and resumed eating.

And so the weeks went by. Everyone else quickly forgot about the Cactus Apple Surprise, except for Jem, and she knew better than to keep bringing it up. Gypsy and Jorah both looked as if they were hiding pots to bean her with if she so much as said the word "cactus". Jem resigned herself, as best she could, to not knowing, to having failed at this particular duty, and she brooded about it (alone) as much as possible. Until she forgot everything else.

Except Grizz.

It had been a cold and snowy day in Winterspring, followed by a colder and snowier night. Dinner was a bit late for some reason (Jem and the others heard much arguing in the kitchens) but the meal eventually arrived, and it seemed just as tasty as usual. Jem was tucking into a second helping when the front door banged open and Esmerlda Shotkick ran in. Everyone turned to look, but it was the faces of the hunters who still had living pets who froze in their seats, Jem included. Gypsy had lost her last pet a year or so ago, but she tensed up anyway on behalf of her hunter friends. Jorah reached out to grab her hand and squeeze it tight. The entire room stood still, and then Esmerlda trotted across the room. Straight towards Jem.

"Mz. Jem," she said, and Jem's heart stopped. "It's Grizz. I think you better come quick." Jem dropped her fork with a clatter and nearly fell out of the chair trying to get up. Gypsy got up and helped her stand and offered to come with her. Jem waved her away. She had known this was coming, she just didn't know when, and why did it have to be now, and somewhere in there, I can do this. She hurried out into the cold night, pausing only to grab a heavy cloak on her way out. "

The stable area was well lit, a bad sign. Jem ran past Esmerlda on her short goblin legs and pushed her way into the stables and down the aisle, to where Grizz's stall was. Her old friend was still alive, but only just. She opened her eyes and made a faint growling noise when Jem ran up, and then closed them again. Her great gray hulk of a body was shivering despite the piles of warm straw and furs that had been piled up. "She was fine this morning, ma'am," said Esmerlda. "Ate all her breakfast, and even went out into the yard for a bit, before the snow really got going. Seemed fine at dinner too, she started eating, and then we found her like this." Jem crouched low beside her old fried, listening to her ragged and gurgling breath, and knew it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Grizz was going to die, and nothing she or anyone else could do would change that fact.

Another face pushed into view, two of them. Jem blinked and felt the tears fall on her face. It was Phee, the pandaren priestess. She knelt down beside Grizz and reached out her hand, already glowing with white light. "Ma'am," began Esmerlda, but someone else—Jem couldn't see who—nudged her to silence. Jem's heart rose, and she thought, I can do this. Grizz can do this. PHEE can do this. The light came down, bathing the old gray bear in it's radiance, and Grizz took a deep breath. Stopped shivering. Everything was quiet, dead silent, so soundless that Jem thought she could hear her tears splashing on her cheeks, and then the light faded and Grizz coughed, a wet, watery sound. Jem looked at Phee, who shook her furry head.

"No!" Jem reached out and pushed Phee away, hard, sending the priestess toppling over into the straw. Her vision doubled, the tripled and everything became a blur. "No! The Light can heal her, I know it can…" But Phee, rising now from the straw, shook her head again.

"The Light can ease her pain, Jem, but it can't make her whole again. The best I can do is ease her pain. It's time."

"No!" Jem screamed again, so loud her voice cramped, and Phee stepped back out of her reach, which only made the pain worse. Phee, her friend, her healer. Esmerlda said something to Phee and then Jem buried her face in the coarse gray fur and sang a lullaby, something she had once sung on starry nights camping out in the wilds, when Grizz would snuggle up to her for warmth and the pleasure of her mistress's voice. Grizz seemed to relax and snuggle up again, but only for a moment. She coughed again…and took no further breaths.

"I want her buried in Darkshore." It was a simple statement, but one that seemed to befuddle Esmerlda.

"We have a perfectly fine graveyard here," she said again. "All your other pets are there."

"She will be buried in Darkshore. She was born there, and there she will rest." Jem's voice was cold and hard and brooked no disagreement. Esmerlda threw up her hands in exasperation and left, muttering. Gypsy waited until she was gone before she leaned over.

"It's going to be a fair journey to Darkshore, Jem my dear. Are you absolutely sur…" The look Jem gave her ended that subject. Gypsy sighed. "Darkshore it is."

And so it was. Jem paid to have the body transported to Darkshore, not just any place in Darkshore, but a special spot, one not far from the border with Ashenvale, a spot where Jem had met Grizz long long ago. It was a long journey along the road from Lor'danel, Jem riding in the back of the cart with the tarp covered bear who had been her oldest and dearest friend. Gypsy and Jorah and Hawkbite and Sirois and Quirtle and Phee and many of her friends from the home rode in carts behind her, but Jem really didn't notice. A contingent of Sentinels fanned out around the procession, to make sure nothing disturbed them on their ride, no nightsabers, no errant furbolgs. Jem didn't really notice them either, nor did she notice the rain which began soon after they left Lor'danel and quickly turned into a downpour.

None of it mattered. What mattered was that her friend was gone, the last link to her old life, to her adventurer's life. Jem had never felt so old and weary as she had at this moment. For the first time she really thought about the fact that she would die, and probably soon too, at the rate she was falling apart. Everything was gone. Jem thought about some of the other pets she had lost—Poly, a Jormungar worm she had tamed in Northrend, a tough campaigner if there ever was one. Poly had been lost on a voyage to Kul'Tiras, when the ship hit something, or maybe a whale had hit the ship. They were just far enough out from shore that Jem couldn't use her flight whistle to call for help, and her and Poly had been forced to swim to a nearby island. Not a long swim, but it had done Poly in. She was sick by the time they reached Boralus and had passed away there. Then there was Buster, her panther—long gone. Her rhino, Thumper, was gone too, and Minkey, the screeching monkey who loved to throw bananas at their targets. All of them, gone. Jem closed her eyes and leaned against Grizz, but Grizz was cold and unyielding. Grizz was gone. Everything, it seemed, was gone.

The carts finally stopped at the designated spot, just off the road. Not far beyond, the road bent into Ashenvale and all the world beyond, but not today. Jem climbed out of the cart, or rather nearly fell, and Hawkbite caught her before she face planted into the wet soil. The attendants respectfully lifted Grizz from the cart and took her to the grave, dug a few days before but already filling with water in the rain. Phee—dear Phee—said a few kind words, words Jem didn't really hear, and then the diggers began to throw the piled up earth back into the hole. Her friends all stood with her, said gentle words, but she didn't notice. Gypsy finally ushered them away, back to the carts, stopping briefly to give her old friend a tight hug. Jem hugged her back and then waved them away. Gypsy understood. All Jem wanted to do was be alone here, at the final goodbye.

She knelt in the rain and mud, ignoring the pain in her knee (the Light can only do so much, she thought, bitterly), and let the rain fall. Fitting for such a day. Had it been raining on the day Jem had found Grizz by the side of the road? In her memory it was bright and sunny and warm—but that couldn't be, because Darkshore was never bright and sunny. The rain came down, and somewhere thunder rumbled.

"I am sorry about your bear." The words snapped Jem out of her trance, reflexes made her leap to her feet, she had nothing, no weapons, no bow and certainly no Grizz. Reflexes or no, she was not the hunter she had been, hardly had she gotten up when her treacherous knee gave out on her again and she lurched hard to one side. A huge green hand grabbed her before she fell, and Jem found herself looking at Urhan through a curtain of rain soaked hair. "Night elf," he said, "you look rather drowned."

Jem pushed back her wet hair but somehow words failed her. She glanced back at the muddy grave. "Like I said, I am sorry about your bear," said Urhan. "But this is no place for a wet night elf, alone and in the rain."

"I am not alone," Jem began, and realized her teeth were chattering. She clamped her mouth shut, willed the chattering to stop, and said, "My friends are here."

"No, night elf, you are alone. I asked your friend, the other night elf and her human mate, if they would leave us be for a bit." Jem felt a sudden rage and then fear. Her friends left her? Alone, here, with this, this, this ORC? She slumped where she stood, all the anger draining away. "Can you walk?" asked Urhan. Jem nodded and began to follow the orc, as best she could with her bad knee, slipping and sliding through the mud to the paved road, and on. He turned not towards Lor'danel—why would he? That was an Alliance town, and would not be terribly welcome. Jem remembered the looks some of the Lor'danel residents had given Sirois and Hawkbite, and they were there with a funeral party. No, Urhan turned towards Ashenvale, keeping one huge hand on Jem's elbow, lest she slip or stagger in the rain. "It's not far. I know a place where we can get something to eat and drink and get warmed up. Only a little ways." Jem followed, meek and exhausted and beyond caring what happened. She remembered battling orcs in Ashenvale, long ago. What goes around comes around, she though, and resigned herself to whatever lay ahead.

They walked some ways down the wet road. Jem knew her knee was throbbing, but somehow it seemed a small, distant thing, not really anything to worry about. She did stumble at times (why? She would wonder, then remember) but Urhan always managed to stop the fall. It occurred to Jem that the orc might want to kill her, although why seemed to escape her. Some part of her brain was scurrying frantically, a mouse racing to the safety of its hole, trying to get her to run too. Old memories, ambush, betrayal—no the orc was not to be trusted. So why was she following him so meekly down the road? I can't run, she thought, even if I wanted to. It occurred to her that Ashenvale was not the pleasant night elf territory of the past, but a contested zone. Would he turn her over to the Horde when they got there? Why? Then again, why was he walking with her? And why had her friends left? Somehow she doubted that even a hulking specimen such as Urhan would scare Gypsy away. Quirtle was there, still a fierce warrior. Hawkbite was her friend too, wasn't he? The hulking paladin would give anyone pause. Urhan, at his age, could not have handled them alone. So why did they leave? Jem thought (hopefully) that they knew she was in no danger. Or perhaps it was a trap, designed to lull everyone into complacency and then…

"Turn here, night elf," said Urhan. Jem, startled out of her thoughts, realized they had crossed the border into Ashenvale. It was still raining hard. Ahead she could see Maestra's Post, but the orc was pointing off to the right. Jem stared at the grassy roadside, puzzled. Where were they going? She could see no path, nothing up ahead. She just stood there, until Urhan gripped her arm and steered her firmly into the wet, slippery grass. They walked a ways towards the trees and then, as if by magic, a small, barely seen path began to open up. It led into the woods east of the road, but to no place Jem could recall in particular. Urhan guided her without speaking along the narrow, muddy trail, up a short hillside, and down the other side (that was bad, and more than once Jem had to scoot down on her rump, as her treacherous knee was not up to the trip). They turned a corner (Jem was shivering and chattering again) and suddenly a clearing opened up. She could see a well, and a small garden and…an orc hut. The flap of the hut lifted and an elderly female orc peered out, scowling.

"Well?" she growled. "Are you going to stand there in the rain like two fools? Get in here, and wipe your feet. I'll not be cleaning up mud for the rest of the evening!"

"Meet Zezra," said Urhan. "A very old friend of mine."

"Old, ha! Speak for yourself, you old fart," said Zezra, and shooed them inside.

Inside the warmth struck Jem like a wave, a warm, gentle wave. She could smell meat roasting, and other cookery going on—was that bread? The hut was dark but dry, and the light mainly came from a large fire in the center. A table had been drawn up next to that, and already the beginnings of a meal were on the table—plates and mugs, a platter of fruit, a pitcher of ale. Jem's stomach rumbled, loud enough for everyone to hear. When had she last eaten? "Well, don't just stand there," snapped Zezra. "You'll catch your death of cold, and I for one have no wish to nurse a night elf back to health or dig her grave. Come on, come on, out of those wet clothes." Zezra's grip was strong, and she hustled the unprotesting Jem to a corner. A screen was up, and behind it were hooks for hanging, and a pile of warm furs and blankets, and some rough towels. "Off with the clothes," commanded Zezra. "Dry off and wrap up as fast as you can. I won't wait dinner for you!" The orc turned and left, and Jem did not hesitate to take her advice.

Wrapped in a warm fur tunic (way too big for her),fur slippers and a warm blanket, her hair up in a towel (why had she never cut her hair? It was certainly a nuisance now) she emerged from behind a screen to see Urhan sitting at the table. A haunch of meat—boar by the scent—was sizzling on the table and Zezra was sawing great hunks of meat from it. Bread, fresh and warm, was piled up on a tray, there were roasted vegetables in plenty, and the mugs were full. "Sit down," said Zezra, and when Jem did, the orc passed a piled up plate her way. Urhan already had a full plate.

"Bossy, isn't she," he commented, wiping up the meat juices with the bread.

"I have to be, with all the fools in the world, out walking in the rain," Zezra said, but there was no real malice there. It was just her way. "Eat!" she commanded. Jem ate. The food was marvelous, plain but cooked just right, and the ale was a delight, fresh brewed and tasty. It warmed her from her toes to her toweled head, and she dug in with enthusiasm. The orcs said nothing, just eating and drinking and occasionally grunting for a refill, which Zezra always provided.

At last Jem sat back, her belly full up and feeling very grateful for the loose tunic—there was no way she would fit comfortably into her wooly pants, not after that meal. Zezra poured another mug of ale and then brought Jem's clothes out and hung them by the fire to dry. The ale made her feel, well, not quite drunk, but definitely easier, somehow. She was still fuzzy around the edges but things were sharpening up nicely in her head. "That was delicious, Zezra, thank you," she said. Zezra merely grunted. To Urhan, she said, "Thank you for bringing me here, and helping me along the road, but why? You could have just come to the funeral, like everyone else."

"I never did understand you hunters and your pets," grumbled Zezra, deep in another mug of ale.

"Zez is a shaman," said Urhan. "A friend of many years. Like her, I do not quite understand the attachment hunters have with their pets, but I respect the bond." He chuckled. "Even if those pets have taken a few chunks of good orc flesh off my bones over the years." He paused, staring at the fire. "I wanted to say thank you to you, for the cactus apple surprise. That must have cost you much gold."

"You know? You never said a word!" Jem said, and then, remembering her manners, added, "You're welcome."

"Why did you do it, night elf?" said Urhan.

Jem considered. "I know what it's like to be without friends, to be alone. Most of the time I was happy with that, I had my pets, and the big world, and I was content. But sometimes…I just wanted a friend around. I thought you might feel that way too, so I wanted to show you that you had a friend in the world."

"Presumptuous," growled Zezra.

"Indeed," said Urhan. "I have friends, just not friends that your elf eyes could see."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand that."

"I know you meant well," Urhan said.

"How did you know? I mean, you never said anything before."

Urhan laughed. "I have ways."

Zezra spoke up. "There are only a few orcs in the world who can make that dish that way. I know all of them, and so does Urhan. It was simple, really, just to ask them. Eventually we found out that the dish was to be sent to a certain night elf in Winterspring." Jem flushed a little. She had thought she was so clever.

"Hawkbite spoke well of you," said Urhan.

"He never said that he talked to you!"

"Of course not. Do you think he tells you everything?" Jem looked down at her mug again, feeling even more foolish. "But he does think well of you, and he thought I should talk to you."

"We couldn't talk in Winterspring?" Jem refilled her mug. "We had to come out here?" She glanced at Zezra. "No offense."

"None taken," said Zezra, who belched and refilled her mug. "I do live a ways out in the woods." Urhan didn't say anything, just looked at her as if he was trying to decide something.

"Oh, for the elementss sake, tell her," snapped Zezra. "You set this all up to talk to her, now tell her." She added after another swig of ale, "She's safe. The elements have told me so."

Jem could not resist. "I never did understand shaman and their relationship with the elements."

Urhan laughed before Zezra could take offense. "Neither could I, night elf, but I am just a plain warrior, and I never heard the call. You heard the call to be a hunter, did you not?"

"Of course, it was all I ever wanted to be."

"Same here," said Zezra. She turned to Urhan. "So talk to her you old fool!"

"Talk to me about what? There isn't anything else to talk about, is there? You know about the cactus apple surprise, you came to the funeral (sort of) and now we are here, what else is there?"

Urhan still said nothing. Zezra said, "He wants to be sure you are a friend, or that you are the friend you are trying to be, before he tells you about himself." She turned to Urhan and spoke in a kinder voice. "She's safe. I think she really does want to be your friend. I detect no deception, and the elements all agree." Urhan sighed.

"This is hard," he began.

"I can see that," said Jem and Zezra together, and then they burst out laughing, beery, cheery fumes rolling over the table.

"I am no longer a member of the Horde," said Urhan.

Jem raised an long eyebrow. "I am technically not a member of the Alliance anymore, which is why I can sit at this table with the two of you."

"No, you don't understand. You retired from service. I was banished from the Horde. I am not welcome in any Horde city, big or small, no more welcome than you would be."

Jem frowned. "Banished? Thrown out? That seems, well, harsh." She thought about it for a moment. "What could you have done that would earn such disgrace? And—no offense—why haven't I heard of it? Or other Horde members?" Sirois crossed her mind, Jem was fairly certain that Sirois knew nothing. Hawkbite clearly did, but not Sirois. "The gossip out there is terrible, I mean, if there is a story and someone knows it, it will be known by everyone…" she stopped. "You are afraid I will talk about you to others."

"It would not be the first time," said Urhan.

"You must think me very shallow then. Or that I only wanted to be friends because I wanted to worm secrets out of you. I'm a hunter, not a rogue or a spy. Before today, I didn't even know you had secrets, just that you might be alone in the world, and I was trying to be friendly in my own awkwardly charming way. But if you don't want to tell, that's fine. I don't know if we can be friends if you think so little of me, but we'll see." Zezra laughed.

"Night elf gettin' uppity," she added.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Zezra simply smiled into her ale.

Urhan huffed a bit, and then came to a decision. "I was banished for supposedly being a traitor, for treason."

"Treason! I thought the Horde policy on treason was death."

"It is. The circumstances were…unique."

"Must have been."

"I fell in love, that's what started it. I fell in love with someone that was off-limits to me."

"Not the first time that's happened in the world," grunted Zezra.

"No, truth, but if I had fallen for anyone but this person, well, it was what led to my disgrace. Had I been in love with a common merchant, or teacher, they might have looked the other way, but no, not in the this case."

"Who was it?" asked Jem.

Urhan wouldn't look at her. "Wulfrid Thornton," he finally said.

The only name that could've amazed Jem more would have been King Anduin, or perhaps Queen Tiffin. She sat there with her mouth hanging open, and Zezra reached across the table and lightly smacked her chin. "Flies, night elf, flies."

"Wulfrid Thornton. Grand Marshal of the Alliance, that Wulfrid Thornton? Commander of the Alliance army? Are you insane?" Zezra laughed. Jem gave her a hard look. "He was in a relationship with the High Commander of the Alliance army and you laugh? By the light…" she stopped. "Wait…I remember hearing that Wulfrid had retired young. It was very unexpected, he still had many years left if he wanted to, but he stepped down, very abruptly. Do you mean to say," she turned to Urhan, "that he left the Alliance because of YOU? Did the Alliance know about this? By the stars…" she put her head in her hands. "How could you even have met and not killed each other?" she mumbled.

Zezra put a hand on Urhan's great green one and Urhan sighed. "It was a diplomatic conference. I went as one of the champions to the Warchief, and Wulf, well, he was there as a champion for the Alliance."

"Wulf," Jem muttered, "he calls the Grand Marshal Wulf. You couldn't fall for a beautiful human woman, could you? A teacher, perhaps, like Jorah? Grand Marshall Wulfrid? I'm surprised there wasn't a war."

"Former Grand Marshall," corrected Zezra.

"We just managed to avoid war, and yes, your Alliance knew just as much as the Horde did. I know it was love at first sight for me, and I think it was for him as well. But obviously we had to be careful, this was dangerous, very dangerous."

"Obviously."

"We saw each other on the side every time we could. We managed to keep it quiet for about a year, and then, well, another guard saw us together and informed his superior, and it went up the chain, as you can imagine." Jem nodded. "Wulf was given a choice, retire and leave the Alliance, and I was given a similar choice. Or else we would have to never see each other again, or we would be executed. I think everyone, Horde and Alliance, was very relieved when we both stepped down. I think they thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. Now that we were free of our allegiances, so to speak, we decided to get married."

"Married?" Jem's voice was squeaking now. "You married him? Who on Azeroth would marry you? That would be treason on their part as well!" Maybe it was the ale, but Jem suddenly made the the connection. "Ah, Zezra. No wonder you live all by yourself. You married them?"

"Love is love," Zezra replied. "A long time ago, I thought to marry Urhan myself, but well, I could tell pretty quickly he was interested in me that way. So to speak." She smiled. "But we stayed good friends, and when he and Wulf came to me and asked me to wed them, what else could I say?"

"But you live alone," Jem said. "I'm sorry, it's in my nature to be blunt, I don't mean any harm. You are alone, Urhan. Where is Wulf?"

"Dead," said Urhan. "We moved to Winterspring, up in the hills behind Everlook."

"There are YETIS up there," Jem said.

"Do you really think either Wulf or I would have been bothered by yetis?" Jem had to chuckle and shook her head. "Wulf shaved his hair and beard. We took turns going into Winterspring even so, for Wulf was still recognizable, and me, well, what would happen if Wulf showed up with his orc lover and mate?" Jem could see where this was going.

"Someone saw you together," she said.

"Some of the goblin children, I expect. But," here he stopped for a second, and Zezra squeezed his hand. "But we only wanted peace. Between the two of us, we thought we could handle any trouble if it popped up. How wrong we were."

"It was my turn to go into Everlook," he went on, "for supplies. I remember there was a storm predicted for that day, so I left early, before dawn, so I could make the round trip there and back before the storm hit. I kissed Wulf good-bye, he was still in bed, sleeping, and, well, I never saw him again."

"What happened?" Jem whispered. It was Zezra who answered.

"Cowards came and set the hut ablaze. With Wulf in it. We don't know if they meant to kill both of them, but either way, they were too scared to fight them honestly."

Urhan signed. "My sweet Wulf was gone, and everything I had to live for was gone. I went to Everlook, alone, looking to attack anyone I thought even remotely responsible. No, that's too kind. Looked to kill anyone I could lay my hands on. Fortunately, that was no one, for there are enough goblin bruisers there to restrain even an orc like me. They banished me too, from Everlook. Right about then Dorfy opened the home, and I moved in. I wasn't about to leave my Wulf alone in the snow and cold. If I needed anything Hawkbite would get it for me."

"He knows?" No wonder Hawkbite had been so reticent.

"Enough of it. He was an advisor to the Warchief when I was banished, and he retired shortly afterwards. He didn't say so publicly, but he was ashamed of the way the Horde and Alliance treated us. He also knew that there were enough people out there who would hate even a common orc and a common human being together, much less two males. So he said nothing."

Jem stared at him. "And you realize I could probably cause a great deal of trouble for you, if I wanted to. Why would you even tell me that story? You could have made something up, something less likely to get you into trouble again."

Zezra and Urhan smiled at each other. "I am tired of being alone, night elf, as you so rightly guessed. I am tired of the troublemakers. If you mean to cause trouble, be my guest. At least I will die and be buried with Wulf—Zezra promised that."

Jem shook her head. "It was a terrible risk for you, Urhan, and I'm flattered that you trust me. I have no wish to cause trouble, for you or for me. I just want to be friends." She held out a long fingered, violet hand. "Friends?" Urhan grasped the hand with his massive green one, and smiled back. "Friends." Zezra, not to be left out, put her brown Mag'har hand over theirs. Jem laughed and gave Zezra a quick, one armed hug. The orc looked surprised but tolerated it. "To friends!", cried Jem, lifting her mug high. "To good friends.".


End file.
